


What's In A Name?

by pondify



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Weber RPF, Phantom of the Opera RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Romance, coffee shop AU, cuteness ensues basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pondify/pseuds/pondify
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramin is a musician barely making a living and struggling to get a role on Broadway. Sierra is an aspiring singer who works at the Starbucks near his apartment. When their lives intersect, who can say what will happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BuckBeak (odekarnstein)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/odekarnstein/gifts).



> Because there wasn't a Rierra coffee shop AU and I thought that needed to be remedied at once. Mostly fluff, but there may be some angst. This started out as a oneshot and became several small parts, so we'll just have to see where this goes.

He first notices her on a Thursday, when the sky reflects his mood, his throat is sore from singing, and his fingers are bleeding from pressing too hard on the guitar strings. He’s glad the Starbucks is practically empty, because he closes the door harder than is probably socially acceptable when he enters. The only people in the shop are so immersed in their books or laptops or music that they don’t even look up.

He makes his way to the counter, glad there’s no line – his patience is thin as it is. “Um, can I have a skinny venti vanilla latte?” he asks tiredly.

“Sure, can I get you anything else?” replies a light voice, and he looks up.

The barista looks way too perky for such a gloomy day, and normally that would irritate him, but her cheerfulness seems to suit her perfectly. Pale green eyes sparkle at him from under the brim of her black Starbucks cap, and her pink lips are curved into a friendly smile. Dark auburn hair is swept into a messy knot at the back of her head, but a few wispy strands hover around her cheeks.

Her nametag reads _Sierra._

He has been silent for too long. “Uh, no,” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck and hoping it wasn’t too obvious that he was staring at her. “That’s all.”

“Okay, and your name?” Sierra asks.

He considers telling her his real name, but then he’ll have to spell it out for her, and he really doesn’t need that awkwardness today. So he tells her his name is Tony, like always.

She gives him a genuine smile as she tells him his total, and he pays with a ghost of a smile in return. He sits near enough to the counter that he can watch her while he waits for his coffee, and he comes to the conclusion that it shouldn’t be allowed for a girl to look so stunning in a Starbucks uniform.

“Tony?” Sierra finally calls, and he’s on his feet, heading over to the counter. She hands him his coffee, and their fingers almost brush, but that would be really cliché. He can’t decide whether he’s glad or disappointed that they didn’t. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks,” he says as he takes his coffee, and then he just stands there stupidly for a second. He hears himself blurt out, “By the way, uh, my name isn’t actually Tony.”

Sierra raises her eyebrows at him.

“It’s Ramin,” he says, feeling himself blush a little.

She stares at him for a second, then laughs. “Oh.”

“What?” he says, but he can feel himself grinning a little.

“Nothing, I just… I can see why you went with Tony,” she giggles. _She’s adorable,_ he thinks.

He chuckles. “Yeah, Ramin has caused some problems in the past. There’s always the whole, ‘how do you spell that’, and then sometimes they’ll pronounce it wrong,” he jokes, somewhat self-deprecating.

“How do they think it’s pronounced?” She’s actually conversing with him. She isn’t bored or confused or… and he probably should reply now.

“Ramen, usually,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck again as he grins. “Or Raheem. That one I _really_ don’t understand.”

Sierra is laughing again, and he’s totally in awe of her flawless beauty. “Okay, _Ramen_ ,” she teases, “as much as I’ve enjoyed this, I need to get back to work.”

 His heart sinks a little. “Of course,” he agrees and steps back. “Um, will you be here tomorrow?”

Was that too quick? Judging from her smile, he doesn’t think so. “Yep, I’ll be here all day,” she says cheerfully, not in the manner that people usually make that statement.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sierra,” he tells her, and she looks a little surprised. “You’ve got a nametag,” he informs her with a grin, then tips an imaginary hat to her and leaves with his coffee in hand.

He is definitely coming back tomorrow.


	2. Two

Ramin hasn’t been this happy to wake up in months, years maybe, and for a minute he’s annoyed because he doesn’t know why. Then he remembers that it’s morning, and morning means Starbucks, and Starbucks means Sierra. A grin spreads across his face, and he just sits there in bed grinning like an idiot for maybe thirty seconds before he snaps back to the present and scrambles to get dressed.

He walks into the coffee shop ten minutes earlier than usual, which gives him a strange sense of accomplishment. Sierra doesn’t see him enter – she’s finishing someone else’s drink, and he tries not to stare at her too hard as he leans against the counter. She writes something on the cup, calls out a name, and passes the young woman the drink over the counter to her right.

“Skinny venti vanilla latte,” Ramin says right as she’s turning toward the counter he stands at, and she smiles in recognition when she sees him.

“Hi, Ramin,” she says.

“Hey, Sierra,” he beams, pleased she remembered the correct pronunciation of his name. Already knowing the price, he pays her quickly and watches her slim fingers as she puts the cash in the register.

“Should I write ‘Tony’ on your cup again?” she teases.

He shrugs, still too happy to see her to think much of it. “If you want,” he says, looking at her almost shyly.

She gets a mischievous look on her face as she moves away from the counter to make his latte, and he again sits at the table right by the counter. He stares fixedly at his hands, not wanting to look like a creeper by watching her, but his gaze occasionally flickers back over to her.

He looks up right when Sierra finishes his coffee, and their eyes meet. She smirks and holds out the cup. He gets up and goes over to her, but she holds it away slightly when he reaches for it.

“You can’t read what I wrote until you leave,” she tells him sternly, although there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Ramin’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Okay,” he says uncertainly, taking the cup and holding it so his fingers cover the name. “I’ll see you later – tomorrow, I mean.”

He thinks she blushes, but he isn’t sure. “Bye!” she says, and he leaves, still covering the name on the cup.

The moment he’s outside, he holds it up to his face, and his eyes fall on the word ‘Ramen’ with a little smiley face written next to it.

His head turns toward the window, and Sierra is already ducking her head and hurrying to stand behind the cash register, but even from here he catches her smile.


	3. Three

A few weeks later, another lonely Christmas is coming, it’s too cold outside to even snow, and Ramin is having trouble scraping together enough money to pay the rent; but his spirits are high as he walks to Starbucks, all leather jacket and black beanie with his guitar slung over his shoulder. He’s come to consider Sierra one of his only friends, and his days are always brightened by getting to see her here.

She always writes a different nickname on his cup, and in return, he has taken to calling her “Sirruh”. He doesn’t have enough minutes on his cellphone to ever call or text her, but her number is programmed into his phone after she wrote it on his coffee cup one day.

It’s easier to admit it to himself, when he’s alone, but every time he sees her he becomes more certain that she’s more than just a friend to him. He’s not in love with her, but he likes her: he likes her auburn hair, her sparkling green eyes, her easy laugh and her glowing smile. He can’t stop thinking about her, no matter where he is.

Thank heaven she hasn’t found out yet.

“Morning, Sirruh,” he calls out when he walks in the door, and her eyes widen when she sees his guitar.

“Are you going to play something?” she asks breathlessly as he reaches the counter. He’s never seen her this excited before.

He grins modestly, glad the shop is nearly empty right now. “That’s the plan, as long as you don’t mind,” he answers, sitting down at his table.

“The usual?” Sierra asks, turning to the coffee machine.

“Yup,” he says, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Then he remembers that he can’t really afford his drink right now, but he can’t just tell her that he has no money, and he definitely isn’t leaving.

He’s been staring blankly at his open wallet for about half a minute when Sierra says, “Actually, this one is on the house.”

“What?” He looks up.

She shrugs and bites her lip. “If you play and sing for me, you don’t have to pay for your coffee,” she says.

Ramin’s cheeks heat in embarrassment and annoyance. “You don’t have to –”

“It’s fine, honestly,” she interrupts with a tone that stops him from arguing further.

He lowers his head, settling his guitar on his lap and busying himself by tuning it until his blush fades. He really doesn’t have much money and he would be an idiot not to accept free coffee, but he hates when people feel obligated to offer him charity.

Sierra comes out from behind the counter and sets his cup on the table. She sits down in the chair across from him, and he gives her a quick nod of thanks as he lifts his cup to his mouth. The warmth of the coffee slides down his throat and spreads through him. Yeah, he definitely would’ve been an idiot to reject this.

“Okay,” he says, mostly to himself, as he puts it down and gets a better grip on his guitar. Making a fast decision, he starts to strum chords, nodding his head slightly to the beat.

_“Headin’ down south to the land of the pines_

_I’m thumbin’ my way into North Carolina_

_Starin’ up the road and pray to God I see headlights_

_I made it down the coast in seventeen hours_

_Pickin’ me a bouquet of dogwood flowers_

_And I’m a-hopin’ for Raleigh, I can see my baby tonight_

_So rock me Mama like a wagon wheel_

_Rock me Mama any way you feel_

_Hey, Mama rock me_

_Rock me Mama like the wind and the rain_

_Rock me Mama like a south bound train_

_Hey, Mama rock me…”_

 Ramin doesn’t look at Sierra as he sings, afraid of seeing her expression. He’s worried she’ll think he’s terrible or something, but he manages to keep the apprehensive tremor out of his voice.

When he finishes and his fingers have drawn out the last chord from the guitar, he takes a long drink of his coffee and swallows hard before looking up at Sierra.

Her mouth is slightly open and her eyes are wide, and she’s stone silent. He honestly can’ tell if she’s amazed or horrified, so he glances down at his guitar again and chuckles. “That bad, huh?”

“Ramin, that was wonderful!” she gasps.

He grins, tugging the front of his beanie down a little. “Really?”

“Really. Oh, play me something else,” she begs, and he laughs for real, taking another sip of his coffee as he considers what song to play next.

He sees Sierra’s eyes light up in recognition when he begins playing, and he smiles at her before he sings.

_“If I get murdered in the city_

_Don’t go revengin’ in my name_

_One person dead from such is plenty_

_No need to go get locked away_

_When I leave your arms_

_The things I think of_

_No need to get over alarmed_

_I’m coming home…_

_I wonder which brother is better_

_Which one our parents loved the most_

_I sure did get in lots of trouble_

_They seemed to let the other go_

_A tear fell from my father’s eye_

_I wondered what my dad would say_

_“He said, ‘I love you and I’m proud of you both_

_In so many different ways’…”_

To his surprise, Sierra quietly hums a harmony to the last two lines, so soft he can barely hear her, but from what he can hear, she has a beautiful voice. His heart thumps in his chest and he adds that to the list of things he likes about her.

When he’s done, he glances up to see that the few people that are in the shop have stopped whatever it was they had been doing and are watching him. He blushes at the applause, noticing that Sierra is also clapping and smiling broadly.

“You’re so amazing,” she gushes.

Ramin rubs his hand over his jaw. “Thank you,” he says thoughtfully. “Not many people think so, y’know?”

She frowns. “Why not?” she says. “You’re fantastic! They should love you.”

He turns red again and drinks the rest of his coffee quickly, unsure if she realizes what she just implied. He sets the empty cup down beside him and stands, pulling his guitar over his shoulder.

Sierra pouts as she rises too. “Are you leaving already?”

“I’ve got to get back to my flat,” he says, and without thinking he reaches out and touches her cheek briefly. She blinks in surprise, and her face colors. In an attempt to cover it up, he steps back and pretends it never happened. “See you later, Sirruh.”

She relaxes. “See you, Ramen,” she says in her usual teasing tone as she walks back to the counter.

He carries the cup with him out of habit, and is out the door before he even realizes it’s in his hand. He moves to open the door again and throw it away, but he stops cold when he sees what’s written on the side.

It says ‘Ramin’. It’s the first time she’s ever written his real name, and that in itself is startling enough. But to the right of his name is drawn a little heart.

He glances through the window just as she’s turning her back, and he’s both glad and disappointed that she doesn’t see his reaction to the heart.

Maybe he’s overreacting, and maybe girls just draw hearts on their friends’ coffee cups sometimes, but he can’t seem to make his own heart slow down the whole way home.


	4. Four

Three days before Christmas, Ramin’s hanging out in Starbucks with Sierra when she asks, “So, what are you doing for the holidays?”

He freezes, his shoulders tensing. “Not much,” he says as casually as possible. And by ‘not much’, he means playing for tips on some icy street corner far enough from his flat that he knows nobody he’s acquainted with will see him. Sierra still gives him free coffee on the days he brings his guitar, but she really doesn’t know the extent of his financial problems.

“Oh, are you not going to see family?” she says, oblivious.

He presses his lips together. “Nah,” he says after a moment. “I’ll just be alone at my flat, probably.”

She hands him his coffee, and he glances down to see his name with the little heart that he’s seen every day for over a week but that still makes his pulse speed up. “So will I,” she sighs.

He sips his drink, leaning his side against the counter so he’s half-facing her. “What, no boyfriend to spend Christmas with?” he teases.

Sierra blushes, lightly hitting his shoulder, and he grins.

A minute later, she clears her throat. “You know, if you wanted to, we could… I mean, you could come to my place for Christmas.”

He stares at her, not sure he heard her correctly. “Sorry?”

Lowering her head so the brim of her cap covers her face, she says, “W-we can spend Christmas together. If you want. I mean, if you don’t want to, it’s totally okay –”

“Sierra,” he interrupts softly, trying not to grin. “I’d love to.”

Her face breaks out into a huge smile. “Great,” she says, delighted. “Can I text you my address this evening?”

“Of course,” he says, giddy with excitement at the prospect of spending Christmas with Sierra. “What time do you want me to come by in the morning?”

She considers it for a moment. “Seven,” she decides, then smirks. “And you have to wear your pajamas.”

Ramin pales a little. “Oh.”

Sierra giggles. “This is so exciting,” she says.

“Do you want me to bring my guitar?” he asks, sipping his latte.

“Yeah, totally,” she answers, then suddenly brightens. “Oh! I just remembered something I wanted to show you.” She picks up a piece of paper from the other counter and hands it to him.

Ramin takes it, frowning a little. It’s a flyer for some kind of Starbucks open mic concert on Christmas Eve. The ‘tips accepted’ part distracts him for a second. “What is this?” he asks her.

“I think you should do it,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

He pauses. “… You do?”

“Yeah! It’d be really great,” she says happily.

“Well…” Playing on street corners is one thing. He’s never attempted anything like this before. A crazy idea comes to him, and he looks up at her. “Okay, but on one condition.”

“Okay, shoot,” she says, putting her elbows on the counter and leaning forward. He mirrors her, which brings their faces quite close together.

“You have to sing with me,” he says.

She frowns a little, straightening. “What?”

He shrugs. “I want you to sing with me,” he repeats. “I’ve heard you humming sometimes when I play, and you sound amazing.”

She looks hesitant, biting her lip. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, Sierra,” he says, covering her hand with his and giving her a pleading look.

Sierra stares at him, then laughs suddenly. “Ramin, I can’t say no when you look at me like that,” she giggles.

“Like what?”

“Like – with those – your puppy-dog eyes!” Her fingers brush his palm, and his breath hitches, but he doesn’t think she notices. “Okay, I’ll do it. What song did you have in mind?”

“Seriously?” He blinks, pleasantly surprised. “Um… well, there’s this song, _Poison and Wine_ , that I thought might fit our voices…”

To his relief, she nods enthusiastically. “I love that song,” she says. “Good choice.”

Ramin suddenly realizes their fingers have been entwined for the last minute or so, and he turns red with embarrassment. Sierra seems to realize it at the same moment he does, but squeezes his hand gently before drawing hers away.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he says, feeling a little flustered as he puts the flyer in his jacket pocket.

“See you tomorrow,” she says a little distractedly as he picks up his coffee.

“Don’t forget to text me your address,” he says, turning to go. “Bye.”

“Bye, Ramin!”

When he gets back to his tiny, cold flat, he pulls out his guitar and sets to work refreshing his memory on the chords. Eventually, he sings his lines under his breath, leaving pauses where Sierra will sing.

_“You only know what I want you to…”_

Pause. 

_“Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine…”_

Pause. 

_“I don’t love you, but I always will_

_I don’t love you, but I always will…”_

The song feels empty without a second voice, but he finishes it anyway. Now all he can do is wait for Christmas Eve and hope he won’t make any mistakes.


	5. Five

Ramin is reluctant to spend money on a cab, but it’s Christmas and icy and he really doesn’t want to walk all the way to Sierra’s. So it is that he finds himself in sweatpants, a T-shirt, his leather jacket, and a beanie with his guitar on his back and a small wrapped box in his hands, paying for a taxi at seven a.m. on Christmas morning.

He knocks on her door a little hesitantly, then steps back to wait, holding the gift in cold fingers. He’d hoped he would be able to buy her something much better than what he ended up with, but this was all that was in his price range. He hopes she’ll like it anyway.

The door opens suddenly, revealing an overly-excited Sierra in a baggy sweater, plaid pajama pants, and a Santa hat. “Merry Christmas!” she squeals, flinging her arms around him.

He laughs, hugging her back. “Merry Christmas, Sirruh,” he says.

“Come in,” she insists, grabbing his hand and tugging him through the door. He barely has time to set down his guitar before she all but pushes him down on the couch, then sits beside him, handing him a mug from the table.

“You, uh… you made me coffee?” he asks, vaguely confused as he sets down her present and wraps both hands around the mug.

“Of course,” she says. “I made myself hot chocolate, but I thought you might want coffee instead.”

Ramin grins a little. “Thank you,” he says and sips it. “You know, I feel like you’ve become an expert at making these.”

“I have it down to a science,” Sierra agrees cheerfully and lifts her own mug to her lips.

As she drinks, he takes a quick glance around her house. It’s quite a bit bigger than his own, and definitely far nicer. Remembering something she told him last night, he asks, “Where are your cats?”

She shrugs. “Probably sleeping somewhere,” she says. Then she straightens quickly. “I almost forgot! I got you a present.”

“What?” He blushes as she climbs off the couch, sets her mug down, and goes to get a medium-sized box from under the tree. “Sierra, you didn’t have to –”

“Of course I did,” she says, placing the box on his lap and sitting down again.

Ramin takes a long drink of his coffee before putting it on the table. Gingerly, he tears off the wrapping paper and opens the box. Frowning a little, he pulls out a thick, dark green scarf, a white beanie, and another, smaller wrapped box. He lets out his breath in a _whoosh,_ glancing at her and trying not to smile. “Sierra, I –”

“Open the other one,” she urges him.

He unwraps the second box, and inside is a set of new guitar picks: regular ones as well as the finger picks he likes to use. He can’t stop the grin from spreading over his face now. “I don’t know what to say,” he mumbles. “Thank you so much.”

“I knew you’d like them,” she replies happily.

Ramin remembers his own gift for her then, and picks it up off the couch beside him. “I have something for you, too,” he says, offering it to her.

Sierra stares at him for a moment. “Ramin, you didn’t spend too much on me, did you?”

His face feels hot again as he holds it uselessly in front of her. “It’s Christmas,” he mutters, embarrassed.

After a painfully awkward pause, Sierra takes the present and tears off the wrapping paper. Upon opening the small box, she gasps.

“Do you like them?” he asks quickly, anxious.

She grins, taking the yellow rose post earrings out of the box and putting them on. “I love them,” she says. “How did you know yellow roses are my favorite?”

“I didn’t,” he answers, surprised and proud of himself. As she finishes putting them on, he adds, “They look great on you.”

Her smile lights up the room. “Thank you,” she says, then swiftly leans down and kisses his cheek.

Ramin struggles with a blush, the spot on his cheekbone where her lips touched burning like fire. “I-I’m glad you like them,” he stammers.

Sierra tucks her feet under her and rests her head on his shoulder, and he thinks his heart might beat right out of his chest. “What do you want to do now?” she asks softly.

Gripping his knees with both hands, he swallows. “I could teach you to play guitar,” he suggests tentatively.

“Really?” She sits up, and he can actually breathe now, even if he does miss her head on his shoulder.

“Sure.” He reaches down to lift his guitar onto his lap. “Um, I guess we should start with chords and stuff.”

She giggles. “Probably.”

Ramin spends a few minutes explaining chords and frets to her, then shows her a G chord before passing her the guitar. “Okay, you try.”

What comes out of the guitar is definitely not a G, and he has to laugh. “No, it’s like –” Without thinking, he puts his arms around her and repositions her hands. “There you go.” Can he get any more cliché?

She bits her lip in concentration, and he grins when a shaky G chord rings out of the instrument. “Hey, now you’re getting it!”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” She looks at him, playfully offended.

“Sorry.” He chuckles, moving her hands again. “So this is a D…”

A little while later, Sierra leans back into his chest. “Okay, I’m done,” she announces dramatically. “My fingers are falling off.”

Ramin half-snorts, half-laughs as he sets the guitar on the floor again. It’s easy now to slip his arm around her shoulders, and she snuggles into him without hesitation. “You’ll get used to it,” he tells her.

They sit in comfortable silence for a long time, and Ramin starts to doze off a little. He’s half-asleep when there’s a sudden weight on his legs, and he opens his eyes to see a greyish tabby cat sitting there staring at him.

“Hi, Celie,” Sierra mumbles sleepily, reaching over to lightly stroke the cat’s head. It meows, then starts purring quietly, stretching up to rub its head on Sierra’s palm.

Hesitantly, Ramin runs his fingers down Celie’s back and is rewarded when she closes her eyes a little and purrs louder.

“She likes you,” Sierra comments as Ramin continues to pet her cat. Still purring, Celie curls up on his lap, resting her chin on her paws.

“That’s good to know,” he murmurs, scratching behind Celie’s ears. “Sorry, is this really boring to you?”

“Is what really boring?”

“Just sitting here.” He shrugs a little.

Sierra shakes her head, shifting closer to him. “No,” she assures him. “Actually, it’s really nice.”

Ramin makes a soft sound of agreement. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. He likes being here with her, just resting and letting their troubles fade away.

After almost an hour, Sierra yawns and sits up, watching Celie jump off Ramin’s lap. “Play something?” she requests, pointing to his guitar.

Smirking, he picks up the guitar and puts on the new picks she gave him. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. A Christmas song?”

He laughs and starts strumming. _“Dashing through the snow…”_

 _“… In a one-horse open sleigh,”_ she joins in, smiling almost too big to sing.

_“Over the hills we go, laughing all the way!_

_Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright_

_What fun it is to ride and sing a sleighing song tonight!_

_Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way_

_Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh_

_Hey!_

_Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way_

_Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh!”_

They’re both laughing too hard to finish the song, and he decides he loves her laugh. She is so beautiful to him.

“Okay, okay,” she says finally, her cheeks pink with mirth. “Have you ever written a song?”

Ramin winces. “Uh… I’ve written a couple with my friend Hadley,” he says. “You don’t want to hear one.”

Sierra widens her eyes pleadingly. “Come on, Ramin,” she says coaxingly.

He sighs, but he isn’t really that annoyed. “All right,” he says shyly, looking down at his guitar as he plays.

_“She clasps her hands together_

_And prays that God will hear her_

_So she can finally be saved_

_She says ‘goodnight, I love you_

_I’ll leave the light on for you’_

_They think that she is very brave…”_

Glancing up, he can see an enraptured look on Sierra’s face. She seems to be enjoying it so far, so he continues.

_“Broken, broken_

_She will never be the same_

_Broken, broken_

_She will never be the same…”_

“This is a really good song,” Sierra tells him during the interlude. “You really wrote this?”

“Mm.” He nods.

_“It’s time to think things over_

_And figure out what happened_

_But the answers somehow lack_

_I can’t seem to tell her_

_That I’m scared of losing_

_When it’s too late to turn back…”_

He’s oddly pleased when, on the chorus, Sierra starts singing the harmony that Hadley usually takes.

_“Broken, broken_

_She will never be the same_

_Broken, broken_

_She will never be the same_

_Whoa-oh, whoa-oh whoa, whoa-oh, whoa-oh_

_Whoa-oh, whoa-oh whoa, whoa-oh, whoa-oh_

_She keeps repeating to me_

_Why it happened to her_

_‘What did I do that was wrong?’_

_So look at me and tell me_

_Please don’t try to save me_

_Have you loved me all along?”_

Ramin sees Sierra shiver at that and makes a mental note to ask her why when he’s done.

_“Broken, broken_

_She will never be the same_

_Broken, broken_

_She will never be the same…”_

Normally there’s a really lengthy musical bit here, but he can’t really play that on guitar, so he just plays the interlude from before and then goes into the ending.

“ _Whoa-oh, whoa-oh whoa, whoa-oh, whoa-oh_

_Whoa-oh, whoa-oh whoa, whoa-oh, whoa-oh…”_

“And you thought it wasn’t good!” Sierra nudges him.

“Yeah, well…” He grins. “That’s one of my favorites.”

She bites her lip a little. “I can’t believe you wrote that,” she says. “I got chills. The lyrics were really powerful.”

“I had help,” he says modestly. “Anyway, that’s enough of me singing. It’s your turn.”

It’s Sierra’s turn to be shy. “Maybe later,” she promises, getting up. “Come with me, I made cookies.”

This is how they spend the rest of their day. They talk, play music, eat, and even spend almost two hours reading each other stupid jokes off the Internet and laughing until their sides hurt. And all the while he is falling more and more in love with her.

Sometime after dinner, Ramin is starting to get sleepy again. “I think it’s about time for me to be heading home,” he says regretfully, glancing at Sierra.

“Okay,” she sighs, helping him up off the couch. “Yeah, it is kind of late, isn’t it?”

“Thank you so much for letting me come over. And for the presents,” he says sincerely as he puts on his new scarf and beanie. He shrugs on his jacket and slings his guitar over his shoulder, then puts the box of picks and his old beanie in his pocket.

“It was a lot of fun,” she says with a smile, walking him over to the door.

She says something else, but he isn’t listening, because he has suddenly noticed the little sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorframe. Sierra opens the door for him and he turns halfway toward the cold street, but he doesn’t leave, just stands still in the doorway, directly underneath it.

“Ramin, are you okay?” Sierra faces him, looking at him with concerned green eyes. One side of her face is softly glowing warm colors in the light from her Christmas tree, the other illuminated by the streetlights outside.

He knows he might regret this later, but the decision is already made. Ramin cups her face in his hands and steps closer to her, leaning down and kissing her lips.

It only lasts for a moment, chaste and sweet and utterly perfect. He lets his hands fall away from her face as he pulls back, and he can’t restrain a stupid grin at her surprised expression.

“Merry Christmas,” he beams, ducking his head to hide his blush as he turns and heads out the door.


End file.
